


Spicy

by rathernotmyname



Series: Fictober! 2020 [6]
Category: The War at Home
Genre: Autistic Kenny, Because He's Cute, Cooking, Dylan is not used to spices other than salt, Fictober! Day 6, Fluff without Plot, I don't think he has a last name?, M/M, if he does please let me know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:46:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27993225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rathernotmyname/pseuds/rathernotmyname
Summary: Kenny cooks, and Dylan eats. All is good? Well, kind of.
Relationships: Khaleel Nazeeh "Kenny" Al-Bahir/Dylan
Series: Fictober! 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2050200
Kudos: 5





	Spicy

**Author's Note:**

> Author's note:  
> I DO NOT CONSENT TO MY WORK BEING HOSTED OR REPOSTED ON ANY UNOFFICIAL APPS OR WEBSITES OTHER THAN ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN WITHOUT MY APPROVAL, PARTICULARLY APPS WITH AD REVENUE AND SUBSCRIPTION SERVICES.

Dylan didn’t look very good, Kenny thought. 

He wrung his hands over the silly apron Dylan had insisted on buying. Had he made a mistake? He’d followed the recipe step by step; he couldn’t have screwed it up that bad.

Could he?

Apparently, the answer to his question was yes, because Dylan’s face was turning a shade of red he had never seen on him before, eyes bugging out and fork quivering in his fingers. 

“Does it taste… bad?” Kenny asked, cringing internally at his pathetically shaky voice. 

Dylan opened his mouth to answer, but only a hoarse wheeze left his lips. He set the fork down and grabbed for his glass of water in the same movement, gulping down the contents of it in two seconds flat. After a few heartbeats of stillness, he began to wave his hands in front of his face, presenting a similar sight to Kenny when he was excited about Star Trek being on TV, and jumped from his seat to the mini-fridge squished between the oven and the doorway. 

Kenny felt like crying. He had taste-tested it so often! In fact – he stole a piece of chicken from Dylan’s plate – it still tasted just fine to him. Maybe even a little better than how his mom made it. He never did like rosemary very much and had skipped using it completely.

Maybe he had a cold and his senses where all over the place like they were on Bad Days, capital B and capital D, because Dylan had said that there were “extra homework” bad days, and there were “everything itches and hurts on my skin and my own breathing is too loud” Bad Days, and Kenny couldn’t help but agree. 

But he would’ve noticed if he had a cold, because Dylan always, without fail, made him tea even though they never had any and he had to go buy some. 

Maybe Dylan had a cold. 

Kenny always, without fail, cooked chicken-noodle soup for him when he was sick, but going from Dylan’s reaction to his newest dish, Kenny wasn’t very confident in his cooking abilities anymore.

He wrung his hands some more and hovered around his boyfriend for a little, who was pouring milk down his throat as if he was trying to win a competition. 

“Is it that bad? I’m so sorry.”

“Gargleblugh” Dylan replied before remembering that speaking didn’t work with a mouthful of milk. He set the carton down and wiped his mouth, gasping for breath.

“Don’t worry, Kenny, I’m sure it’s really good.”

Kenny raised an eyebrow in befuddlement. That was certainly not the answer he had anticipated (and feared). 

“You’re sure? How can you not have an opinion? You just ate it,” he snapped, only noticing how rude he sounded when the words had already left his mouth.

“Hey, it’s okay.”

Kenny sighed and shook his head. “I know, I’m sorry.”

Dylan smiled at him and nodded. Apology accepted. Kenny had the strong wish to kiss him, so he did. He tasted like chili and milk.

“Also, I do have an opinion on your food. I just don’t think it’s helpful for you to enhance your cooking abilities.”

Kenny tilted his head.

Dylan gave him a smooch on the nose, wrapping his arms around him. 

“It was so fucking spicy, I think my entire tongue just shriveled to ash,” he blurted and started giggling uncontrollably. 

The tension left Kenny’s body so suddenly that he felt as if he would lift off the ground and crash against the ceiling. He burst out laughing. 

Later, after a hearty meal of eggs and bacon, they agreed on trying out spices before any further Arab dish-experiments, and Dylan earned the new affectionate nickname “white bread”, which he carried with stubborn pride.

**Author's Note:**

> I LOVE THESE STUPID LITTLE GAYS, YOUR HONOR!!!  
> Dylan is a white bread™ and you can't change my mind. Poor Kenny. He has a lot of milk to buy.  
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
